


Let Me Hear You Sing For Me

by harrietelizabeth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietelizabeth/pseuds/harrietelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam and Zayn get together to write some music; smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Hear You Sing For Me

"Sing that part again,” Liam says, his brow furrowed adorably. He’s bent over the piano in Zayn’s music room, trying to figure out the chords for one particular riff in Zayn’s new song ‘Not Lonely.’ Zayn’s leaning up against the side of the piano, singing his riffs over and over again while Liam gets steadily more frustrated. Zayn had called him in a week ago to help out with his new album, now that he’s got a bit of spare time with the break and all. Zayn’s got all his lyrics and the melodies down, but Liam’s always been so good at pulling everything together, at hearing the overall sound of a track rather than just bits and pieces that Zayn cobbles together. 

It had been strange, writing music with Liam again, at first. It’s never awkward between them, even though they hadn’t spoken for almost nine months when Zayn called Liam out of the blue to ask him for help writing on his new album. He’d almost expected Liam to turn him down – he knows Liam understands why Zayn had to leave and go his own way, but it’s still a long time to go without talking to someone you used to spend every day with. But Liam, being Liam, had just agreed enthusiastically, telling Zayn he’d clear his calendar to come over to LA for a couple of weeks. There had been some initial hesitation, with Zayn not sure if Liam would want to go back to the way their friendship was before he left the band, and Liam being a little too over-enthusiastic about everything – Zayn’s house, his dogs, his makeshift studio that he’s set up in one of the guest rooms. But then they’d relaxed into each other again, messing around for hours with different beats, making up stupid lyrics and reminiscing about old times until it’s two in the morning and Liam calls his driver to tell him not to bother picking him up to go to his hotel. Then Liam will crash in Zayn’s other spare room, just down the hall from Zayn’s own bedroom, and Zayn will go to sleep thinking about how much he’s missed this, having his best friend around to talk to, laugh with, to do stupid things like order donuts at midnight and see who can fit the most in their mouths at once. He’s been starting to wish Liam would stay longer than two weeks.

He’s changed a lot this year, Liam has. Of course, Zayn’s been keeping up with them all on social media, heard the new music, noticed the new wardrobe choices, the new haircuts, the new vocal arrangements where one of them, quite often Liam, sings Zayn’s parts. But it’s different seeing Liam in person, the way his hair’s grown in long and thick on top, falling into disobedient curls after he’s just washed it or, like today, when he’s run his fingers through it too many times for Zayn to count. He’s grown into his features more, too, and he looks more like a man than Zayn’s ever seen him. Zayn guesses he’s changed too, and he wonders if Liam notices.

He realises Liam’s started playing again, his fingers working deftly over the keys, and Zayn picks up his riff, changing it up a little from the last time so he doesn’t end up hating the line at the end of their session. He zones out a little as his voice does its own thing, watching Liam frown in concentration, a curl falling across his forehead as he ducks his head over the keys. He cuts off his chord abruptly, shaking his head in frustration. 

“It just doesn’t sound right,” Liam says, pushing his hair out of his face for the eight-hundredth time. 

“Is it me? Maybe if I sang it more like –“

“No, no it’s not you Zee. You sound great, fucking beautiful as always.” Zayn glows a little under Liam’s compliment; he’s been giving them out left right and centre since he touched down in LA, but Zayn still hasn’t got used to Liam telling him how much he loves Zayn’s voice. He used to do it on stage, embarrassing Zayn in front of thousands of people, but somehow it means more when it’s just the two of them. 

“I just can’t get the transition right. Like, it needs to be darker, I think,” Liam’s saying, pounding out two chords on the piano. Zayn’s eyes hone in on his fingers, splayed against the keys, and he gulps. That’s another thing that’s changed about Liam this year – his new tattoos. Zayn’s fixated by the one on his right hand, the way it covers the back of Liam’s broad palm, how it makes his fingers look even longer and bigger somehow and – shit, Zayn really shouldn’t be thinking about the length of his best mate’s fingers while they’re writing music together. 

It’s just, he and Liam have fucked around before, so it’s not like Zayn doesn’t remember how those fingers feel against his skin, when they’re wrapped around his cock, or when he’s stretched around them. But it’s pretty clear Liam’s not here for that this time, and Zayn can understand why.

It doesn’t stop him thinking about how those fingers feel inside him though.

“Let’s take a break,” Zayn suggests, hoping his train of thought isn’t obvious in the strain of his voice. “It’s nearly lunchtime anyway.” Liam sighs.

“I’ve almost got it,” he says, and Zayn can hear the frustration in his voice. Liam’s always been a perfectionist, and he won’t stop until something’s done exactly how he wants it done. “You can go get some lunch if you want though, I’m probably holding you up.” Zayn shakes his head, then a thought strikes him.

“Here, budge up,” he says, nudging Liam with his elbow. Liam stares up at him for a second and then shifts over on the seat, so there’s just enough room for Zayn to sit. He’s skinny, sure, but their thighs are still pressed up against one another, and Zayn can feel the heat radiating off Liam, just in sweats and a tee shirt, next to him. 

“Maybe if we – if we play it together, like we used to,” Zayn says. 

They used to work on duets all the time, taking in turns to add chords or piano riffs, laughing and singing along as it usually turned into a horrible cacophony of sound. Sometimes, though, they got something really good out of those stupid jam sessions, and Zayn’s sort of hoping that’ll happen this time. If not, at least it’ll hopefully break Liam out of his mood and make him laugh again. He’s raising an eyebrow at Zayn, but then he puts his fingers back on the keys and starts a simple four chord progression, different from the one he’s been trying different versions of for the past hour. Zayn fixates on the way his hands move, confidently but easily, his fingers applying gentle but firm pressure to the keys. Then Zayn remembers he’s meant to play something too, so he listens for the notes in between Liam’s chords, like Liam had taught him years ago, and picks up a little melody on his end of the piano. It’s nothing like the song they’ve been working on, but it sounds pretty good, and soon there are notes forming in Zayn’s head that he starts to hum under his breath. 

“Standing here in front of you, never thought it could be true, seems I’m always running back to you,” Zayn sings, not knowing where the lyrics come from or why they come to him in that particular moment, but knowing they feel right. Liam adds in a different chord sequence under Zayn’s melody, and it jolts something in Zayn’s chest. It’s a familiar feeling, like when you figure out who the villain is in a detective film or you realise you’re falling for someone. It’s the beginning of a song, Zayn thinks, a good one. He continues humming, running out of lyrics but throwing in random words like “keep” and “yours” and “home.” Soon Liam is singing along with different words, weaving his voice in and out of Zayn’s with his effortless way of picking out the harmonies in any song – even a song that doesn’t technically exist yet. Then Liam throws in a key change just to be cheeky, and Zayn adds a few more riffs to show off. He sneaks a glance over at Liam, and he’s beaming from ear to ear, his eyes completely ignoring the movement of his fingers across the keys; instead, he’s looking over at Zayn, his face radiating joy and happiness like only Liam can. It makes something warm settle in Zayn’s bones, and his fingers trip over the keys, missing a couple of notes. Liam giggles and thumps out the last few chords, throwing his head back and ending on high falsetto note. It makes Zayn feel a bit wild and reckless, like he wants to run into the ocean or jump on his motorbike and tear down the highway, the way that Liam opens up a place in Zayn’s chest that stays closed for everyone else.

“That was actually really good,” Liam laughs, and Zayn knows that even if they don’t get a song out of this session, it was worth it to see Liam this happy. 

“Yeah, it was,” he says, knocking his knee against Liam’s. He looks down at Liam’s hands, resting on his thighs, and a shiver goes up his spine again. Then he looks up at catches Liam’s gaze, and something crackles in the air between them like lightning.

“I’ve missed this,” Liam says quietly, and Zayn’s heart thuds low and loud in his chest. He feels warm, like he’s wearing too many clothes, even though he’s only got on jeans and a tank top. But Liam’s pressed right up against him, his face inches from Zayn’s, so close that Zayn can see the lines next to Liam’s eyes where he’s still smiling.

“Me too,” Zayn breathes, and then his recklessness kicks in, and he closes the gap between them and kisses Liam.

It’s so familiar, kissing him, even after so much time. It brings back a wave of memories for Zayn – stealing kisses from Liam backstage after a show, both of them buzzing off adrenaline and too happy to care who saw; lazy kisses in hotel beds when they had the day off; dirty, needy kisses when Zayn was close to coming and Liam would tease him until he was begging for it. The thought makes Zayn moan against Liam’s lips now, and then he pulls back, embarrassed.

“Sorry, was that – is this – ok?” Liam looks a little dazed, his lips hanging open and his eyes glazed over, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Zayn.

“Yeah it’s – I’ve wanted – fuck, Zayn, c’mere,” Liam says, cupping his hand around the back of Zayn’s neck and pulling him in again, sliding their lips together. Zayn’s giddy with the thought that Liam wants this too, wanted this maybe since he got to LA. Zayn thinks he’ll get that information out of Liam at some stage, and then he thinks “later” as Liam slides a hand under Zayn’s thigh and pulls him into his lap. Zayn gasps a little against Liam’s mouth, and shifts until he’s comfortably straddling Liam’s thighs. The seat isn’t very big, so Zayn’s back is supported by the piano as Liam pulls his hips down against his own. Zayn gets the memo and rolls his pelvis against Liam’s, their kisses getting sloppier and more breathy as they rut against each other like horny teenagers. Zayn cannot get the image of Liam’s fingers, thick and long, inside him, and he starts pushing back against Liam’s hands where they rest on his butt. It’s not enough, with the jeans Zayn’s wearing and the infuriatingly light grip that Liam has on his ass.

“Li,” Zayn says into his mouth, and Liam brings a hand up to Zayn’s cheek, rubbing his thumb along Zayn’s jaw. It grazes over his thick beard, and Zayn almost nuzzles into it like a cat, until he gets a better idea.

He turns his head into Liam’s palm and slips his mouth around his thumb, earning him a soft groan from Liam. Zayn looks at him as he sucks on Liam’s finger, grazing his teeth against it gently and taking it further into his mouth. Liam knows that Zayn has a thing for his hands, so it’s no surprise when Liam slips another finger into his mouth alongside his thumb, and Zayn moans around them. He works his tongue between them, licking over Liam’s digits until they’re slick and warm in his mouth, and Liam gently works them further towards the back of his throat, so Zayn has to close his eyes and concentrate on not gagging. He has half a mind to drop to his knees and blow Liam right now, knowing how good his cock would feel in his mouth, but then Liam palms over his ass with the hand that isn’t fucking Zayn’s mouth, and he forgets about blowjobs.

Liam seems to be right on cue with what Zayn’s thinking, as he adds another finger to Zayn’s mouth, making his lips stretch and his tongue work harder around the extra digit. He presses his lips to the soft shell of Zayn’s ear, and Zayn can hear how hard his breath is coming.

“Forgotten how much you like this, Zee,” he whispers against Zayn’s lobe, and it makes Zayn grind down harder into Liam’s lap. He moans around Liam’s hand in response, and feels a trickle of spit roll down his jaw. Liam pulls back and watches it glisten on Zayn’s cheek with blown pupils, before he reaches in to kiss it off. Then his lips are back on Zayn’s earlobe, hot and sticky.

“Gonna get my hand all nice and wet so I can finger you open?” Liam says, his voice barely under control, and Zayn feels like eyes are going to roll so far back in his head that he’ll go blind. When he blinks open though, Liam floods his vision, flushed cheeks and dark eyes and sweat starting to build on his forehead. He’s still working his fingers in and out of Zayn’s mouth, and Zayn nods as hard as he can without choking on them.

“Fuck,” Liam breathes against Zayn’s jaw, and with his free hand starts working on the button of Zayn’s jeans. Zayn reaches down to help him, and together they get Zayn’s jeans and pants down until his bare skin is brushing against the soft material of Liam’s sweats. His eyes are starting to water with the stretch of his mouth, but it’s always at this point that he wants more, wants to get completely fucked out until he’s crying, until he’s choking on Liam’s hand or on his cock. 

But then Liam’s pulling his fingers out gently, replacing them with his lips, and reaching down to circle a spit-slicked finger around Zayn’s hole. Zayn shudders, whining into Liam’s mouth, and tries to stay relaxed. It’s just, he loves the thought of how big Liam’s fingers are, but when they’re actually brushing against his hole, he’s reminded that it’s been a while since someone fingered him open, and he’s nervous. Again, Liam seems to read his mind, and plants soothing kisses along Zayn’s jaw. 

“I’ll go slow, yeah?”

Zayn nods into Liam’s collarbone, feeling Liam increase the pressure of his fingertips in small increments, until Zayn just wants him to get it over with and starts pushing back on his finger.

“You ready babe?” Liam asks, his voice tight with what Zayn guesses is the strain of not sliding his finger straight in.

“Yeah, please Liam, want you inside me,” Zayn says, a little more desperate than he would’ve liked, but he immediately finds it hard to be embarrassed as Liam pushes past Zayn’s breach, slowly going deeper until he’s up to his second knuckle. Zayn involuntarily tightens around him, his thighs like a vice on either side of Liam’s legs and his breath coming quick and shallow. Then Liam’s stroking up ad down his back with his spare hand and kissing over Zayn’s collarbone, and he sighs, letting some of the tension leave his body as Liam pulls his finger back slowly. He works up a rhythm, not curling his finger up yet to find Zayn’s spot, but loosening Zayn up until he’s rocking back on Liam’s hand and begging for another one.

The second finger makes Zayn bite down on Liam’s shoulder, his whole body shuddering with the drag of Liam’s knuckles inside him. This time, once he’s scissored Zayn open some more, Liam crooks his fingers up a little, like he’s memorised Zayn’s body and knows exactly how to make him cry out, how to make him claw at Liam’s tee shirt and clench his thighs. 

“Fuck, Liam,” Zayn bites out as Liam rubs two fingers relentlessly over his prostate. 

“You feel so – god – so fucking good,” Liam says, leaving Zayn’s prostate alone and pushing in deeper. Zayn arches his back against the piano, and it makes him think of late night jam sessions with Liam while he was still in the band, and the last seven days of writing songs and goofing off together. It makes the whole situation hotter for Zayn. 

Then, without warning, Liam’s pushing in a third finger, and god, it’s so much Zayn almost black out. He’d got Liam’s fingers pretty wet in his mouth, but it’s not the same as actually using lube. It hurts, a little, and Zayn hisses as he tries to adjust to the hot, tight stretch. 

“Ok?” Liam asks, his voice laced with worry, and Zayn nods.

“Just – give me a sec,” he says, taking a deep breath before sinking further down onto Liam’s hand. Once he’s adjusted, he starts fucking down faster on Liam’s fingers, not caring about the angle or depth, just chasing the slightly-painful heat of Liam’s thick fingers, imagining what he looks like right now, pink and wet and stretched and full, with Liam’s hand tattoo dark against Zayn’s skin down there.

“You gonna fuck yourself on my fingers?” Liam asks hoarsely, and a loud moan slips from Zayn’s mouth. He’d forgotten Liam had a dirty mouth on him, and he’d forgotten how hot it gets him. He hasn’t even touched his cock and he feels seconds away from coming. He leans forwards so he’s rubbing off on the fabric of Liam’s sweats, and it changes the angle of Liam’s fingers, too. Zayn groans as Liam finds his prostate again, only hitting it every third or fourth stroke like the bastard he is. Zayn feels full to bursting, and when he looks down he can see his cock leaking thick beads of precum on Liam’s light grey sweats.

“M’close,” he pants, and feels Liam nuzzle closer into his neck.

“Fuck, me too, I’m gonna – gonna come in my pants Zayn, fuck, you feel so good, so hot and tight for me,” he’s rambling, and all of it sends Zayn spiralling towards the edge, thinking about Liam getting off on nothing but the friction of his pants and the feeling of fucking Zayn with his fingers. It’s all too much, and Zayn lets out a strangled gasp as he comes between them, his hips stuttering against Liam’s. 

Remembering Liam hasn’t got a free hand to get himself off, he reaches down and stuffs his hand in Liam’s pants, wrapping around his cock and stroking him messily until Liam’s moaning shamelessly and spilling over Zayn’s hand and in his pants. 

Zayn forgets where he is in the haze of his comedown, until Liam gingerly pulls his fingers out of Zayn and kisses him gently. Then he feels the piano digging into his back, the plush of the seat against his knees and Liam, beautiful, incredible Liam, staring up at him.

“Fuck,” is all that Zayn can manage, as he pushes himself off Liam’s lap so he can stretch his legs. He feels sore and empty and blissful all at the same time, as Liam stands up and leans into him, putting his hands on Zayn’s hips.

“Fuck, indeed,” Liam agrees, and Zayn laughs.

“Guess we’re gonna struggle with the songwriting even more now that we’ve got this to distract us,” Zayn says quietly into Liam’s tee shirt, hoping this wasn’t a one time thing and that Liam won’t be on the first plane back to London tonight.

“Guess I’ll just have to stay more than two weeks to get it done,” Liam says against the top of Zayn’s head, and he smiles gratefully, putting his arms around Liam’s waist.

“Better get a hotel though, can’t have you using my spare room. What if someone important comes to stay, I’m very popular you know,” Zayn says, and Liam snorts into the short hairs on top of his head.

“I’ll just have to move into your room,” he says in a low voice, and Zayn feels warmth seep through his stomach and legs. He lifts his head to kiss Liam, then remembers he’s standing there with no pants on, and that Liam’s just come all through his.

“Shower?” Zayn says. “I think the guest one’s broken though, so you’ll have to use mine,” he grins. Liam raises his eyebrows, his lips quirking up.

“Really? It was working fine for me this morning,” he teases, but he follows Zayn out of the room and down the hallway to his ensuite. As they throw quips and banter back and forth, stripping off their clothes and getting into the shower, Zayn’s reminded of what he’s been missing without Liam – feeling this comfortable with someone, being naked but not exposed, ribbing each other but without malicious intent, arguing over what to eat for lunch without really caring about the outcome, exchanging blowjobs in the shower and having to get clean all over again.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Zayn mumbles into his pillow that night after Liam’s curled around him in Zayn’s bed.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Liam says, his lips against Zayn’s neck. “Missed you, Zee.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come say hi on [tumblr](zouiamsingingalliwantforxmas.tumblr.com)


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